(after Rimbaud)

June 30. militant diagrams in the stratosphere, o ethanol-
we were arresting anarchists, objects of contemplation, or of art.

the photos prove that we know what we are talking about. on the critical date, we had been ordered to put a bomb somewhere - an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time. ten people perished during the attack, and distances tumbled into nothing.

magic nights of hideous study
paychecks horrific as phantoms

dear friends. the world, I believe, is full of so many marvelous cities. but everyone I have ever met has only been to places where they didn’t want to be, and they have only done what they didn’t want to do, and they have died in ways that they didn’t want to die.

give us stones, magnificent stones.

goodbye to all that, we have done nothing wrong. victory to the occupations. victory to the imagination. o radiance, we are so respectful we demand to be boiled

communique

after Rimbaud

dateline x. new cargo. innovative bloodstains in the atmosphere
encircled like language or birds. the point is that you do not agree
certain separations in the poetic word. certain landscapes or ghosts

cash & oil. or maybe / barbarians, a glass
do the leper itch / dig my radiation, love
not you: geezers, alleys, or lets pretend
you cream, the red-haired bombs & stars

or the content of corporate capital spreads routinely across the surface texture
of the bodies of middle class militants aflutter in the heart of cheap pharmaceutics
multiplied by several completed minutes each disconnected by social flattery

copernican drinkers: each city splits
re-orders, entangled, sealed / is laws
& fast money-back panic impalation
& clear love rides our glacial hearts

meanwhile. certain emblematic subjectivities. certain time-zones taken out of commission.
worthless chemistry, impossible melodies, passports and mercury. content deranges form.

communique

Erratum (cf DOGS)

communique

Dogs (after Rimbaud)

------------------ here at the centre of the official world, they’re making a chart of all of our secret thoughts. They know everything about our cities, our rented glue

(a) the fusion of transnational capital with reactionary political power
(e) arbitrary militarisation
(i) a racist mobilisation against selected scapegoats
(o) public opinion’s spectral ditch
(u) a fanatical ideology based on hypocrisy and sentiment

Its all so exotic, a renewal of sectarian violence: like circus tyrants, they are bestial and tender / like sentimental magnets, they will occupy our territory for a single second, or maybe for months, maybe forever.


Trafalgar Square is solid meat. Dogs.